Title: Yesterday Brought the Beginning
Author: Marks
Rating: NC-17
Canon: HBP spoilers.
Length: 2,200 words.
Summary: "This was the moment that made Draco's breath catch."
Scenario: I promise to stop saying, "Have you come yet?"
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor pretend to own any characters or locations within the HP Universe, they remain the sole property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Christopher Little Agency and associates. No money is made from this work, it is purely a work of fanfiction.
Notes: Another of those not-so-literal approaches. Betaed by
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rosesanguina.Yesterday Brought the Beginning
This was the moment that made Draco's breath catch.
It went like this: Harry would have him on his back, Draco's legs hooked over his shoulders, Harry's hand pressed behind one knee. Draco had his hand on his own cock, pulling and tugging as Harry slid in and out of him. Harry's hair would plaster itself over his stupid scar, and his glasses -- which he refused to take off, saying he wanted to see Draco -- would slide to the very tip of his sweat-slicked nose. While Draco preferred to bite his lower lip to prevent sound escaping, Harry's mouth dropped wide open as he panted and moaned in time with every thrust.
Draco's hips would rise off the mattress, and Harry would groan something that sounded like Oh, God or Malfoy, fuck, and then Draco's breath caught.
That, though the position or the words or the location might be a little different, was always the moment when Draco would come.
And then panic would set in. Draco could hear imaginary feet thumping up the rickety stairs and bursting into a room that smelt like a trapped animal. He'd imagine Death Eaters popping into the room to kill Harry and drag Draco back to his Master. He'd grip Harry's arms with sticky palms, and ask:
Have you come yet?
And Harry would always freeze, then come, his face screwed up as though he had no choice in the matter. He'd pull out of Draco roughly, and Draco might want to cry out (but wouldn't), and then he'd order Draco out of the room -- his room -- and Draco would go back to Spinner's End and wait for the next time he was needed.
Draco understood why Harry was upset, but the feeling that everything needed to happen now, now, now, and faster never went away. He couldn't let it.
They didn't have the time.
This was Harry's favourite place to do this, just because it seemed to much like them. He liked his knuckles scraping against brick as he supported Draco's arse, Draco's robes hitched up around his waist, pants nowhere to be seen.
He liked that Draco considered trousers optional. He liked that sometimes Draco would go off to the gents, only to return and stuff his pants into Harry's front pocket, and look at him before they left the Leaky Cauldron or the Hog's Head or wherever the Order's rendezvous point happened to be. Harry didn't like so much that his body had never reacted that way to Ginny, though he was getting used to it a little more every time this happened.
As Harry shoved his lubed cock into Malfoy's tight body, open trousers sliding down his hips, he assured himself that if anything happened to Draco, at least they both knew Draco had brought that upon himself. That was why this worked.
Draco dug his fingernails into the back of Harry's neck, and Harry winced as he leant forward to lick Draco's collarbone. They worked off each other in ways Harry had never considered, eyes meeting as Harry's teeth sank into Draco's bottom lip, looking away as Draco worked his hand under Harry's shirt to drag his nails upward, leaving marks Harry wouldn't heal that night.
Then, they reached that moment when Harry couldn't look away, when Draco moved restlessly, back scraping against the brick, and Harry spread Draco further apart, finding the angle that made Draco throw his head back and bite down on his lower lip, red flush spreading across pale skin and disappearing into gleaming blond hair. Harry watched this like a starving man, and he could never get enough.
"God-- fuck-- Malfoy-- you--"
A reluctant whine escaped Draco's throat as he spilt hot over his own hand, shooting over and over again as Harry kept fucking as fast and as hard as he could.
When the shudders stopped racking Draco's body, he lowered his head, and met Harry's eyes: "Have you come yet?" he asked.
And Harry wanted Draco too much, was too hard to stop it. He growled and came, reluctantly, Draco's arse clenching around him, pulling pulse after pulse from his cock.
"Christ, why do you always say that? Can't we take our time with this?" asked Harry as he pulled out.
Draco's rubbery legs slid down the wall, and he didn't say anything.
Harry still felt empty, desperate, and knew he shouldn't. "Can't we take our time with anything?" he continued, incensed.
"No," said Draco simply, pulling his pants from Harry's front pocket as his wrinkled robes dropped back into place.
Before Harry could say anything else, Draco had gone with a pop.
It didn't matter. Harry was going to tell him to leave, anyway.
Harry raised his eyebrows and slipped Draco a piece of parchment as Moody debriefed them both. Once they'd both suffered through one-hundred ways to say vigilance, Draco was able to find a moment's privacy to read the note:
I told Ron and Hermione I'm on recon tonight. If Snape isn't expecting you back, meet me at The Leaky Cauldron at 10pm. Pack for a night.
Surprised, Draco looked up and found Harry watching him, though he was pretending to be fascinated with a hangnail on his middle finger. He gave the briefest nod, then headed to the Floo.
The grin around Harry's finger wasn't very well-hidden, and Draco wasn't too thrilled with that development.
But still, he went and arrived earlier than Harry, bag in tow.
Draco wheedled two fingers of good whisky out of the barkeep, even though he did have to assure the man he was of age three times before he succeeded. The first went down smoothly, burning a path right down his oesophagus, though he spluttered on the second when Harry abruptly appeared and got a key from the bartender, like he'd been doing it his whole life; Harry called him Tom, and got a huge, toothless grin and a hair ruffle for his troubles.
Harry's fingertips grazed over Draco's wrist before he headed toward the stairs, a gesture no one would have noticed if they weren't looking for it, and Draco paid for his drinks and counted to ten before following.
The room was sparse, but it was private, and that terrified Draco. Before, they'd done this in Number 12 Grimmauld Place with only minutes before an Order meeting; they'd done this in alleys alongside bars, and once, in Snape's bed at Spinner's End. Everything was always rushed, and Draco liked that.
He liked being able to explain this away as a fluke, as a way to relieve mounting tension between battles and planning sessions. This little room, though, with its double bed and chest-of-drawers, with its tiny bathroom and threadbare throw rugs, this meant fraternising with the enemy and liking it.
And Draco did. More, even. But he couldn't allow it. It'd get them both killed.
He allowed Harry a gentle kiss, then a deeper one, allowed his robes to be pulled off slowly, each fastening and button undone to reveal another patch of skin. He allowed Harry to lick him, to watch him wickedly from under thick, sooty eyelashes. He allowed the wide-open green eyes as they kissed, allowed Harry several minutes to explore with feather-light touches the silvery scars that ran across his cheek and chest, the twisted black skull burned onto his wrist. He allowed it when Harry pushed him back to the bed, when Harry nearly made him come just by the slow in-and-out of his fingers, adding one after the other after the other.
He allowed it when Harry's eyes didn't leave his face as Harry entered him, as Harry fucked him until he felt like he was completely bare, more naked than he'd ever been in his life.
He allowed it as one of Harry's hands circled his erection, sliding up and down, twisting, thumb over the head, palm against his sac, allowed himself to whimper Harry, just once, because Harry was moving so, so slowly and for so long, he couldn't bite his lip anymore.
"Draco," Harry said, eyes never leaving Draco's face, his own cheeks deep crimson, "God, I-- I think I...I need to tell you-- just in c-- case...I-- oh!"
Draco allowed himself a long moan as he came all over his belly, one throb after another, feeling like they'd never end.
When they finally did and things slowly came into focus again, he allowed himself to feel Harry still shoving in and out of him, to hear the slap of skin-on-skin, to watch the words he couldn't let himself hear form on Harry's lips.
"Harry," Draco interrupted, knowing this had gone too far, "have you come yet?"
"Fuck you, Draco."
There was a squelching noise as Harry pulled out of Draco's body, his erection still standing out from his body as he gathered his clothes and put them on.
"If you can't acknowledge this for what it is," said Harry angrily, "then I can't do this anymore. I won't. Good-bye."
When the key landed next to Draco's head just as Harry Apparated away, Draco allowed it when he had to reach up and let himself throw it across the room.
The months wore on slowly, Harry often flat-out refusing when Mrs. Weasley would insist that his place was in school, and even Ron found himself -- to everyone's amazement -- telling his mother to shut up because the war was more important than taking his N.E.W.T.s on time.
They followed lead after lead, some dead ends, others leading to other leads, until the final, inevitable confrontation with Voldemort loomed over Harry's head. He drove away Ginny, and let Malfoy drive him away, but this was the destiny that he needed to fulfil.
And he did. With almost everyone he'd ever met covering his arse in one way or another, he cast one Killing Curse on Nagini, one on Voldemort, and the Dark Lord was no more.
The victory celebration was like nothing Harry had ever seen; the closest he could reckon was rolling every celebration for every huge Quidditch win, plus every time Gryffindor won the House Cup, into one gigantic party. Throughout it, Ron and Hermione stayed by his side, their eyes a little older, a little wiser than they probably should have been at their age, but smiling -- grinning -- nonetheless.
How did the saying go? Harry Potter, this is the first day of the rest of your life. And Harry had no idea how to spend it.
The answer came, surprisingly (to Harry, at least), in the form of a jostling Malfoy. He stuck his hand into Harry's front trouser pocket, though accompanied with a "Good job, Potter. No one does brute force like you do," before moving back to the edge of the crowd. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment:
I promise to stop saying, "Have you come yet?"
Harry guffawed and looked up, ignoring Ron as he asked "What's that?", and found Malfoy again.
Malfoy shook out his sleeves and held up ten fingers. Harry nodded once, noticing that Malfoy's wrist was now startlingly bare.
Then, to Harry's amazement, Draco shot him a grin that stretched across his entire face, which was flushed pink with pleasure.
Ron nudged him. "Can't blame you for staring, mate. Malfoy looks weird when he's smiling, the pointy git."
"Huh?" asked Harry, not managing to tear his eyes away until the second Malfoy disappeared from sight.
Had they not put up muffling charms, the patrons of The Leaky Cauldron would have heard three of Harry Potter's screaming orgasms before eleven o'clock.
Smugly, Draco traced patterns on Harry's back as the other boy regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes.
"So I won't have to hear that stupid sentence ever again?" Harry mumbled into the pillows, after a full fifteen minutes recovery time.
"No."
"You just needed me to kill the darkest wizard that ever lived first."
Draco smiled. "Essentially, yes."
Harry shifted to one side, propping his head up with his hand. "Why the change?"
"Because," said Draco, running his hand along Harry's bare hip, "I finally realised for this -- us -- to work, we'd need all the time in the world. And now we have it."
"And you can admit there's an us."
"Hasn't there always been?"
"Maybe. Yeah, I suppose," said Harry, apparently giving that serious thought. "Draco Malfoy, this is the first day of the rest of your life. What happens now?"
Draco considered this for awhile, running his thumb over Harry's swollen mouth. "Well, how many orgasms do you think you can have in a night?"
"Fuck, Malfoy," Harry groaned into the pillow, rolling onto his stomach.
"That's the general idea, yes," said Draco as he climbed between Harry's legs.
